The flight from Nice to Bristol was packed. As soon as the doors closed I spotted a hummingbird hawk-moth bumping about the lights beside the overhead lockers. Poor thing. I often see them on my little terrace, wings a blur, freakishly long proboscis burrowing deep into the flowers.

A woman with a steely bob a few rows in front jabbed at it with her inflight magazine and when the creature landed at her feet stamped it to dust, saying loudly to the people around her: ‘You’re all safe now!’ The lady beside me, a hospital cleaner from Liverpool, clenched her fist.

I had three hours to wait before the connecting flight to Glasgow and looking around the airport I noticed that everyone was weirdly fit – ripped even. Folk were wearing decent gym gear and hardly anyone was fat. Was there a fitne

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